


Wait, this isn't train-hell?

by anna_spelledbackwards



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: Greaseball is very pathetic, His poor hair oh no, Stupid Children, after The Crash™️, i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_spelledbackwards/pseuds/anna_spelledbackwards
Summary: CB felt like he'd died. Unfortunately, he hadn't.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Wait, this isn't train-hell?

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just CB, GB, and Electra being stupid and complaining for funsies
> 
> Also I personally needed content of them that wasn't in the context of an orgy oops-

CB blinked against a bright light and he thought he really was dead, but then he realized he’d probably wake up in train-hell, if he squinted he could tell he was looking up at the sky, and he could feel his fingies going numb where his arm was stuck under Electra. Shit. He shut his eyes again, the light making his head pound, and when he opened them again, the sky spun for a moment. He really wished the other two engines would wake up though, as his entire left arm was now numb and he couldn’t really breathe, considering Greaseball was crushing his chest. Holy fuck Greaseball was on top of him. CB didn’t know how many times he’d imagined that scenario, but he never thought it would happen like this. As much as he wanted to relish that feeling, everything really did hurt after crashing and tumbling away from the tracks, so he tried his best to wriggle out from between the racers. The movement finally caused them to stir and the caboose was yanked into an awkward position as Greaseball sat up, rubbing his face with a groan. The diesel suddenly gasped and frantically patted his pockets before pulling out a broken comb.

“No, this was my favorite,” he whimpered.

“Oh boo-hoo,” CB mocked over Greaseball’s shoulder where his panelling had been caught. Greaseball glared at him and cradled the broken comb close to his chest. Before he could reply to the caboose, Electra was pushing himself up from the ground too and untangling his mangled frame from the others. He rose without a word but promptly lost his balance and fell back down. CB grimaced as the electric’s exposed wiring sparked and he flinched.

“I’m ruined!” he whined, hanging his head, his bright hair flopping over, just as defeated as the engine.

“Yeah so am I, who’s gonna trust me now?” CB sighed, pulling himself away from Greaseball. The comment went ignored.

“My hair’s ruined,” the diesel cried, and when CB looked up at him genuine tears glistened in his dark eyes

“Shut up about your hair, what about my reputation!” Electra pushed.

"But my hair!” Without another word and an annoyed scowl, Electra leaned over and messed up Greaseball’s usually perfect hair more than it had been. The diesel gasped, horrified, and whacked Electra’s limp mohawk. With a snarl, Electra jumped to his wheels and found his balance this time, followed closely by Greaseball. As they started to argue, CB groaned and stood too.

“Kids, kids, calm down!” he sighed, putting himself between the two, who just glared from him to each other.

“This is your fault, don’t act like you’re better than us,” Electra snapped, electronic voice crackling. CB gasped and spun to face Greaseball, placing his hands on his (broad) chest.

“C’mon GB, this wasn’t my fault, was it?” he whimpered, giving him his best puppy-dog eyes. The diesel snarled and pushed him away.

“Don’t act all goody-goody again, that won’t work.” CB pouted and crossed his arms, knowing he probably couldn’t weasel his way back into innocence right then, and Starlight, his dented legs were really starting to hurt.

“Let’s just get back to the trainyard,” Greaseball sighed, rolling a shoulder and wincing. Electra nodded and straightened, dusting his shiny legs and trying his best to fix his mohawk back into it’s splendor. As much as CB didn’t really want to go back and face the consequences he knew were coming, he agreed and grabbed onto Greaseball’s couplers when he turned back towards the tracks. The taller engine looked back over his shoulder, surprised.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Well I’m not skating all the way back to the yard on my own!”

“Electra, you take him,” the diesel nearly begged, not even bothering to respond to CB. Electra wrinkled his nose.

“No.” And with that he started back towards the tracks.

“Just...don’t talk,” Greaseball grumbled as he pulled the caboose along with him.

"Wasn’t planning on it,” CB sighed in return, the aches settling in his joints to the point he didn’t feel like being annoying. Apparently crashing had the opposite effect on Greaseball, as he complained the whole way back.


End file.
